


The Breakfast Chronicles: Gingerbread Waffles on Christmas Eve

by gray_autumn_sky



Series: The Breakfast Chronicles [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 16:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8899996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_autumn_sky/pseuds/gray_autumn_sky
Summary: Robin and Regina prepare a Christmas Eve breakfast for their extended family--and manage to sneak a kiss or two...or three.





	

Regina’s eyes flutter open and a smile tugs onto her lips at the realization that it’s Christmas Eve.

In just a few hours the house will be filled with family. Snow and David will come with little Neal in tow—much to Ellie’s delight—and Emma and Killian would be bringing their newborn daughter, Anya, to finally meet the rest of her extended family. For the first time, Henry was brining a girlfriend, and though she’d met Tiana a thousand times before, the thought of her little boy inviting a serious girlfriend to a family gathering unsettled her just a bit.

But the hustle and bustle and nerves wouldn’t begin for a few more hours, and until then, it was just her and Robin.

Rolling over, she slides her hand against Robin’s chest, cuddling closer to him as he sleeps. He lets out a content little sigh as she presses a fluttering to his lips. A smile tugs onto her lips as he begins to stir, and then all of the sudden his arms fold around her and he’s kissing her back.

 “We need to start getting things ready,” she murmurs as his lips move across her jaw. “We need…”

“No,” he says in a decided voice. “Not yet.”

“But if we don’t start the…”

“Not yet,” he murmurs as his lips slide across her neck and throat, and despite her protests, she tips back her head to allow him better access to her. Closing her eyes she takes a breath, enjoying the soft warmth of his kisses—and then, regretfully, she pushes him away. She laughs as she reaches for her robe, tying it around her waist as Robin pouts out his bottom lip, making his displeasure more than obvious to her.  She grabs his robe and tosses it to him, and by the time she steps into the hallway, he’s trailing behind her.

Together, they make their way down to the kitchen—and immediately, she flicks on the coffee maker. Robin turns on the light as he pulls two mugs—adorned with snowmen and Christmas trees—out of the cabinet and his arms wrap around her waist as they wait for their coffee. She grins as his chin rests on her shoulder as she leans back a little, closing her eyes as she breathes in the rich scent of the freshly ground roasted coffee beans.

“We could always just go back upstairs,” he murmurs as the coffee begins to fill the pot. “We could crawl back underneath the blankets and… enjoy each other for a little while.”

“No,” she says, turning in his arms and linking her hands at the back of his neck. “I want to, but we can’t.” Leaning in, she pecks his lips. “In a couple of hours we’ll have a house full of people and…”

“We can take them out for breakfast,” he tells her, chuckling softly as his hands rub her back as he tries to convince her. “Who doesn’t love Granny’s French toast and omelets?”

“Robin…”

“Okay, okay,” he concedes with a teasing little sigh. “Fine, have it your way.”

Grinning, she pecks his lips before turning away from him and reaching for the coffee pot. She pours it into the two mugs he selected—adding just a little sweetener to hers and just a little cream to his—and when she turns to hand him his mug, he’s hugging an armful of fruit to his chest. She laughs and sets down the mugs, reaching for the bags of apples and pears as he drops the quarts of blueberries and cranberries down onto the counter and murmuring his sheepish thanks. Reaching around him, she grabs the container of cubed pineapple and sets it down with the rest of the fruit.

“Oh,” he murmurs, chuckling softly as he grimaces. “Uh, there’s a reason I didn’t take out the pineapple.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Not especially.”

Regina feels her eyes widen and her lips purse. “I… I didn’t know that.” She blinks as she looks down at the container. “So, that pineapple upside down cake the other night…”

“Roland was _very much_ appreciated that second slice,” he admits as a grin pulls onto his lips. “And I must say, I’m relieved that we haven’t had ham and pineapple on our pizzas recently.”

Her brow furrows a little, “Well, that’s more of a summer thing…” Robin laughs as he reaches for his coffee, taking along sip and breathing in the steam that wafts up from the mug. She blinks a few more times as her fingers rub against the hot porcelain of her own mug. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that you don’t like pineapple.”

“Don’t sound so injured,” he tells her, chuckling softly at her obvious dismay. “It’s not like I said that I didn’t like apples.”

“No, _that_ would be grounds for divorce,” she tells him as a grin tugs onto her lips.

Shaking her head, she picks up the pineapple and puts it back into the refrigerator, reaching for a lemon and sipping her coffee as she turns toward the spice cabinet. She turns back just as he’s reaching for the butter and their shoulders bump. A little hiss escapes her as her coffee splashes upward—and then she laughs as Robin’s grabs at her hip to make sure that she’s stable and his other hand covers the top of her mug—and when she looks up at him with wide eyes, he’s grinning at her as he slowly pulls his hand away from the hot coffee.

“Well, since you saved me from scalding myself with coffee, I suppose I’ll have to forgive you for keeping such an important secret from me.”

He rolls his eyes, yet nonetheless leans in and drops a light kiss over his cheek. “Thank goodness for small favors,” he murmurs as he pulls back, and again reaches around her for the butter. “And they say butter isn’t good for you.”

Robin turns back to the counter, laughing at his own joke, and she continues to collect what she needs for the gingerbread waffles. A grin tugs onto her lips as she reaches for the ginger root, remembering the way Ellie’s nose had scrunched up when she’d put the ginger into the cart, and she’d asked with a disgusted tone if they were actually going to eat _that thing_. Regina tried to explain, but Ellie wasn’t interested in the explanation—instead, her four-year-old imagination began to run wild and by the time the reached the checkout, she’d decided they couldn’t possibly eat the ginger root because it would turn her and her brothers into toads, and she’d begged for Regina to put it back.

Looking up, Regina watches as Robin slices the apples and pears, running the knife across the fruit slowly to create nearly identical wedges of fruit. She reaches for the grater and a little bowl as Robin reaches for another piece of fruit, working methodically as he hums a song from _Christmas in Connecticut_ —Ellie’s newest obsession—and her heart warms as she things of the two of them, cuddled up on the couch the night before beneath a heavy knit blanket as they watched the movie for the third time in a row.

Robin continues to slice the fruit and she watches him from the corner of her eye as she measures out the molasses, then spoons it into the bowl. She adds the pumpkin puree and stirs it together as Robin adds dumps the blueberries and cranberries into the colander, then turns to rinse them in the sink—and a small but appreciative smile stretches across her lips when he turns and she notices that his knot on his robe has loosened and she can sneak a peek at the evergreen boxer-briefs he wears beneath it.

Dripping her finger into the pumpkin and molasses, she tests the substance before dropping in the ginger—and when she turns to reach for the butter, she again bumps into Robin. They both laugh as their eyes fall to the butter and a tingle runs up her spine as he takes the opportunity to peck her lips, making her wish she’d taken him up on the offer to “sleep in” and just take everyone to Granny’s later that morning.

She can feel his gaze as she turns to the counter, cutting off a chunk of butter and melting it in the microwave—but when she looks back at him with a suggestive and coy grin, he’s measuring out the cinnamon and the nutmeg and furrowing his brow as he examines the coconut sugar. She sighs as he turns back to the gingerbread batter, spooning in the butter and adding some brown sugar before mixing the rest of the dry ingredients in a separate bowl.

“Yours looks better than mine,” Robin ays—and when she looks up, she can’t help but laugh at his frown. “And easier.”

“It was easier,” she admits as her bottom lip catches between her teeth. “But you chose the fruit bake.”

He sighs as he plunges the measuring cup into the honey. “I did, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she confirms with a nod. “But my batter is done. We can’t actually make the waffles until everyone’s here because…”

“Never eat soggy waffles!” Robin cuts in, laughing as he squirts some lemon into the honey. “What?” He asks as her eyebrow arches in his direction. “That was funny!”

“No…”

“It was.”

“It wasn’t, actually.”

“Never eat soggy waffles?” He blinks. “North, south, east and west…” She sighs, shaking her head, as she presses the lid onto her bowl. “And we’d actually have soggy waffles if we made them now…”

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” she tells him, leaning up into the tips of her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek—and when she pulls away, he looks injured. “Ellie think you’re funny. You’ll always have that.”

Robin only frowns. “Roland used to think I was funny, too,” he tells her. “You’ll notice that I used the past tense.”

“Better luck with this one,” she says, stifling her urge to laugh as she presses one more kiss to his cheek, then makes her way to the refrigerator with the batter. She sets the bowl into an empty space on the shelf and reaches for the cream to make the vanilla whipped topping she’d originally planned to make—and then her smile deepens as she remembers the gallon of vanilla ice cream Roland had convinced her to buy. “You know, we’re just about done with prepping breakfast.”

“That we are,” Robin tells her as she turns back to him, watching as he pours the cinnamon and honey mixture into the baking dish with the fruit. “This just has to bake for… about…” he leans forward and looks down at the recipe card. “Ninety minutes.” He pauses. “And we have to make… the…” His voice stops as her smile deepens. She takes a couple of steps toward him as she shakes her head. His eyes narrow as his hands find her waist. “So, we’re not making the topping?” He blinks as her lips brush over his. “Even though I ran all over town looking for…”

“We have ice cream.”

“Ah, we’re going to cheat.”

“Yes.”

“I’m okay with that,” he nods as her arms link around his neck. “But, might I ask why?”

Leaning in, she again brushes her lips over his, sucking at his bottom lip. “Well,” she murmurs as she pulls back slightly. “We could spend the next forty minutes working on the vanilla topping or we could have ninety minutes alone together and just serve ice cream.” Grinning, she runs her tongue along his lip. “It’s up to you, though.” Robin lets out a shaky breath as her hands slide over his shoulder and down his arms. “It’s _completely_ up to you.”

She laughs a little as he turns out of her arms, grabbing the baking dish and sliding it into the oven, hastily punching numbers into the timer—and then a moment later, his hand is wrapped around hers and he’s pulling her toward the stairs.  


End file.
